There’s no logic in these things. Every man in her life had betrayed her one way or another. CHAPTER XVIII. Taking his new purchase under his arm, Jack proceeded to a small tavern in the same street, where, having ordered dinner, he went to a bed-room to attire himself. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. They do not come for me, to find me and bring me home.
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